Tag: 50 Words

In what is undoubtedly the most exciting old theatre space remaining in Portland (Imago), a blast of comedy and 70’s confusion from Third Rail. The first half may be a bit too funny for where we’re headed, but the switch after intermission drives home evergreen youthful rage against the machine.

#JoyAlert. Even while many ingredients are well known and commonly used, the combination here connects deeply. That’s what arch types do. Willow McCarthy mesmerizing as our little reader and revolutionary. Bryce Ryness crucial as the iron-breasted Miss Trunchbull. Though it must be said he simply channels the great David Thewlis.

Rendering plausible British accents – so often a challenge for American actors – here turns into a minefield of problems with a near constant barrage of detonations. Potential melodrama of story not helped by excessive directorial pauses, teeth gnashing, tearful breast beating. Setting between two eras is not clear enough. Not authentic.

You original theatre artists. You inspiring makers. You smart, witty subversives. FUCK OFF!! Please crawl back in your hole. You’re making everyone else look bad. Liminal smacks Portlanders upside the head with a wholly unique live experience. Impressive audience turnout of non theatre people. This is why we go. EXCELLENT!

There are compelling dramatic threads and several strong performances here. But the central scaffolding does not always hold up. Perhaps too much direct address to audience, and not enough interaction between the characters. One thing that’s prescient though: One day Powell’s will go under. You heard it here first. Poof.

Stunning piece of modern art. Like a glittering shard of glass. But as soon as you stop to pick up this jagged jewel you’re going to get cut. One of the best plays I’ve seen in a long time. With a dark, unmentioned Irish back story careful viewers will see.

Immaculately crafted and accurately rendered. But what is missing is theatre magic – something to take the story into another level of resonance, impact, meaning. The gaze of the offstage men is chilling. After we get the setup, there’s little significant development or change. Inevitably a comparison to RUINED comes up.

A fairly serious miss. Major disappointment. After string of exciting new works, Lesser America picks a 65 minute skit that is not ready or sufficient for prime time. This is definitely not how three guys talk, behave. High flown, awkward poetic monologues and inexplicable context and setting. Not much makes sense.

Unbearable lightness of chick lit drama. Childless, white, hetero, UMC yuppie writers labor mightily and sexily lest wider world fail to laud their heartbreaking works of staggering genius. Male asshole dead on believable, but why woman would be with him for 30 seconds strains credulity. Thin and devoid of any consequence.

There can be no crazier place on earth to inhabit than Will Eno’s brain. This great American playwright is a Salvador Dali of the stage. He takes everyday language and so warps and bends the ordinary that the result is entirely new and revealing. First rate production from Third Rail.